


Mixing Business With Pleasure

by TheWhiteLily



Category: Smallville
Genre: Episode: s01e12 Leech, F/M, POV Lex Luthor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhiteLily/pseuds/TheWhiteLily
Summary: Luthors don't mix business with pleasure.





	Mixing Business With Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly written ages ago, but finished and polished for fan_flashworks "Old Friends"

Lex Luthor had never been one for keeping family traditions, but this happened to be one with which he agreed. 

Luthors never mixed business with pleasure.  Never.

The instant he saw Victoria Hardwick, he knew why she was there. 

“How close are you going to keep her?” murmured Clark in his ear.  And if even a farm boy from the back blocks of nowhere could feel it, she was really laying it on a little too thick.

She exuded every bit of come-and-fuck-me charm she could manage, his name all sibilants in her mouth, as though she were already in his bed.  She had to know just how transparent this was.  But she had his attention nonetheless; arousal sat hot in his stomach at the mere thought of screwing her over as she tried to do the same to him. 

Victoria was ice: ice sheathed in burning hot lips and body and smile, keeping herself apart even as she licked and lied and clenched around him.  She blurred lines, pushed boundaries, stretched out her body beneath his, strained to reach as far inside him as she could without risking her heart or her plans. 

But Lex wasn’t ice; he was fire all the way through, lies all the way down, and in the pattern of those infinite lies lay the shape of the truth.

Sex was never better than like this – hands curling into fists of manipulative pleasure; mouths softly belying the veiled power struggle; sweat soaked bodies writhing to be closer in the thrust, euphoric parry, and counterthrust; calculated, babbling lies falling from swollen lips as orgasm shuddered through body and brain at the same moment – and not the tiniest scrap of his passion was feigned.

“It was only business!” she called after him, façade gone as she realized just how badly she’d lost, far too late to salvage her burning bridges.

He looked back at her, allowing the smug disappointment to touch his eyes.  “You call sleeping with me business?  I hate to think what that makes you.”

The slap was no surprise; she thought him a hypocrite.  He’d known she wouldn’t understand.

Luthors never mixed business with pleasure.  Never.  There was no need.

Business _was_ pleasure.


End file.
